


When the City Sleeps

by OneofWebs



Category: Dragon's Dogma
Genre: Alcohol, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 04:19:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18563788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: After returning victorious from defeating the Griffin, Tavis finds that outside of battle and witty commentary, he's not good at much else. When it comes to romance? Why, he's not even sure what it is.





	When the City Sleeps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caped-Ace (PsychopompSentinel)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychopompSentinel/gifts).



> Happy Birthday to [Caped-Ace!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychopompSentinel/pseuds/Caped-Ace) My perfectly wonderful husband who is definitely most definitely not actually aging today. He works a lot and generally needs to take a nap, but honestly, my life is so much for the better for having met him. I know this isn't a particularly popular game anymore (it's old lol), but this was the first game I introduced him to that we could bond over, so regardless that this is the all that my stress-addled brain could do, I still hope you like it bbu <3
> 
> Happy Borth!

The griffin lay dead on the ground. The battle won. While the men cheered on and mourned the few who had fallen, Tavis could only slump down against the wall of the battered colosseum. His sword clattered to the side, his shield forgotten out just far enough out of reach that, in his concern, Jareth stopped to pick it up before approaching. What an ever-faithful Pawn that he was, kneeling down and readied with a potion, the shield propped up against the wall. And still, all Tavis could think about was the return journey. For a moment, he took to musing that it would be faster to simply swim back to Gran Soren, though that was hardly an idea. They would have to march back the way they’d come, back down through the canyon and past the Blighted Manse. It would be a trek to return and give news of what they’d done, and even in his wounded state, Tavis found himself— _enjoying_ the prospect. Not the journey, so much, but arriving back in Gran Soren where he had left Mercedes to wait for their return and hopeful of good news.

She had been so put out about it—having to stay behind when she begged that Tavis would go in her stead. To protect her men, because soldiers were family given time enough. She had placed her trust in Tavis, that he could lead her men and bring them back alive. The mission completed, the battle won, but Tavis dreaded the information to follow. He’d have to tell Mercedes that not everyone made it. He’d failed her trust, and even as the griffin lay slain and the trophies of the conquest taken, Ser Westley would not be making the return trip. Tavis dared to even think they’d be lucky enough to find his body amongst the wreckage around them. He could only sigh.

“Master,” Jareth caught his attention. He offered the potion once more, and Tavis only thought well enough now that he should take it. It would keep him stable until they returned to Gran Soren where he could seek proper attention and rest.

“I know, I know,” Tavis took the potion and downed it. “I’ll be along in a moment, just let me regain my footing.”

“It’s not that, you just look worried,” Jareth raised an eyebrow, ever impressed at Tavis’s ability to misunderstand.

“Ah,” dumbly, Tavis nodded.

Jareth’s laugh was quiet, but he settled down beside Tavis and leaned against the wall. “What are you thinking about?”

“We will not all be returning to Gran Soren.”

“It is just like you to think of that in the wake of our success. He will never be forgotten, and neither will the rest of them,” Jareth let his eyes close. There was silence after for just a long enough moment that his eyes reopened, and he looked directly at Tavis. “Unless, that’s not entirely what this is about.”

At the sudden question, painfully on the mark, Tavis found the strength enough in his legs to pull himself off the ground. The sword and shield came next, slugged over his back and at his size where hopefully he would not have to move them until it was time to rest. Whether that be at camp or in a real bed, and how he prayed for a real bed. Tavis began his walk off towards the rest of the men, and that was precisely when Jareth realized that Tavis would not be answering his question. He huffed, frowned, and hurried after him. There would be time again to press the issue, once they had at least rid themselves of this place.

The view really was beautiful, but there was something to be said to much the same tune no matter where they went. Something about this place, teetering on the edge of the ocean, though. Tavis spared it one last look before the trek home began. Back through the canyon and past the Blighted Manse. If it was not dark by the time, they reached the halfway point, they would press forward and hopefully reach Windbluff Tower. From there, Tavis might just make the remainder of the trip in the dark, the men could make their way back without his assistance. Though, it would be a fruitless effort. He’d still have to wait until morning to talk with Mercedes about the issue. If there even was one. It felt like there was one.

“It’s far windier than I remember it being,” Tavis complained.

“You were more focused our last walk through, Master. What’s bothering you?” Jareth pressed once more.

Tavis took to walking half a step faster than he had been before, that he might somehow out-walk Jareth. In futility, however, as their destination was obviously the same. When Tavis changed his walk, Jareth copied that he was ever in tune to the speed, and he looked with such an inquisitive curiosity, Tavis could feel it burning through the side of his skull. Like Jareth was attempting to figure something out about him that he hadn’t yet realized himself. If it were possible, Tavis might welcome the introspection. He was obviously too clueless without it—Jareth still staring him down.

“Surely, something must be wrong. You’ve that crinkle in your brow, Master.”

“Do you always stare so closely?” Tavis snorted, the slight smirk of a laugh on his lips as he tried again, uselessly, for the walking faster method. Jareth kept time like it was his job—and it was, being a Pawn. But.

“Yes,” he replied. Straight to the point, like always.

“I wish you’d stop.”

“Then I wouldn’t know your—”

“I know,” Tavis threw up his hand. They’d had this talk before. Tavis wasn’t privy to have it again, not when there was no arguing with Jareth. Tavis wasn’t too prideful to admit that his close looking had always proved useful. It had gotten him a potion before they started this journey, one he would’ve surely been too absent to remember on his own.

“But you won’t tell me what ails you?”

Tavis shook his head. They were passing through Smuggler’s Pass, and though they had cleared it out on the before trip, there was no telling what had happened in the time they were gone. The dead bodies had certainly not moved, but there was still something to be said for vigilance. Jareth understood that much and kept quiet. All of the men did, until they had cleared the pass and the wind somehow _picked up_. Then, it was quiet if only for the effort that had to be put into walking. Tavis had somewhat of an edge, given his heavy armor, but there was time or two again he had to catch Jareth before he fell. His staff only helped so much.

But the moment they saw the Blighted Manse in the distance—

“You did speak of Mercedes before we left.”

Tavis sighed. If only the effort had worn Jareth’s mind out as much as it might his legs.

“That must be it,” he decided on his own. “Something about Mercedes…” and trailed off while he thought. She certainly was strong, motivated—passionate. She had a certain type of life that Tavis hadn’t really seen, not even in Cassardis. Jareth hadn’t known much about who Tavis was before this began, before he became Arisen, but he knew enough to pinpoint that spark in his eye. It was all the staring that he did. He thought on it a moment longer, as they walked. As they stopped for a brief break and a meal. As they continued the walk and the sun was beginning to set over the horizon.

“I see,” Jareth exclaimed. Just quiet enough that Tavis looked up from his hand, where he’d been fidgeting with the edges of his glove.

“Pardon?”

“I understand now, Master,” Jareth folded his hands behind his back. “The issue, that is. That you refuse to tell me.”

“Please, do tell.” Windbluff Tower was not but around the bend. They would rest there for the night, have a real meal, and the morning would bring Gran Soren.

Jareth _laughed_ in response. Laughed.

“Jareth?”

“I’ll let you figure it out, Master. I think it will mean more then,” and this time it was he who picked up the pace to create a distance. Tavis did not attempt to keep up.

The question kept plaguing him. Whatever it was that Jareth had figured out had him stuck in some sort of arrogance the rest of the night. Subtle, like he was, but just a knowing smirk across the fire between them as they ate. He stayed true to his word, though, and didn’t answer any silent question Tavis might have had—he knew better than to even ask. There was no sense in fueling that smug look on Jareth’s face by admitting just how desperate he was to understand what secret it seemed to be that Jareth knew. It was better to leave it. To dwell on it, even as night had finally fallen and the temperature dripped down with the wind—the _wind_ was the worst part about this trip.

Tavis had set his place up inside one of the last stone structures that still stood inside the tower. The wind had this way of coming from every direction at once, however impossible that was, but Tavis managed well enough. And when he finally laid down, the question was there again. What Jareth had seen that he hadn’t. Maybe he would be figuring it out in the morning, once they’d arrived back at Gran Soren. The first thing he would do—after he spoke to Mercedes—would be to lay down in a real bed. Even if for a moment. Before the next matter grabbed his attention.

Mercedes first.

 

When they arrived at Gran Soren the following morning, they were welcomed through the front gates without fanfare. News wouldn’t travel until they had actually proclaimed what they’d done, and that could only truly be done officially. However, Tavis would find himself alone almost immediately. Not two steps into the market did Jareth stop him with a bit of a look on his face as he glanced down to the side, as though he was contemplating visiting the lower parts of the city. And then, with a nod, he turned back to Tavis.

“I think I should stock up on supplies while you visit with Mercedes,” like he’d already decided on doing so.

“I don’t think we really need to—”

“Nonsense. I’m sure we could use something. I’ll just,” and he pointed on down the cobblestone, “meet up with you here later? Yeah. At the Inn.”

Tavis raised an eyebrow, but there really was no denying Jareth at that point. He was already scrambling off like he really couldn’t get away fast enough. Which was fine, in the grand scheme of things. Tavis would be heading to the Duke’s Demesne, where Jareth wouldn’t be able to follow. Even if the excuse of needing more supplies sounded fine enough as it was, it was still oddly convenient. Tavis left it in the Urban Quarter in turn for marching forward, nodding by at the shop keepers as he did. The Duke’s Demesne sat at the top of this long, winding path, in the heart of the Noble Quarter and the city. To voice how obnoxiously long the walk was from the front gate might certainly be considered treason, given the Duke’s rather sour personality, but that didn’t stop Tavis from thinking that every time he stopped just short of the wall to catch his breath. Once he turned, the Nobles would be able to _see_ him, and panting was no way to make an entrance.

Except, no one really _liked_ him strutting about the Noble Quarter anyway. Not that Tavis cared. The gate opened right up for him, and inside, provided the time was right, he was allowed as free roam of the Demesne as the Duchess might. One day he’d take up that offer, but Mercedes was inside the castle, so that’s where Tavis went. Through the front door, straight ahead until he pressed into the throne room. The throne room sat empty, devoid, save a servant who passed through along the sides, under the shadow of the second floor. Which meant that Mercedes was upstairs; might to be a much cozier place to have their discussion. Hopefully, she’d be sitting down when Tavis had to tell her he wasn’t able to bring everyone back.

He’d been right. When he entered the small dining area, Mercedes was sitting alone at the far end of the table with a half-finished plate of food in front of her. She didn’t seem much interested in finishing it, and Tavis couldn’t blame her. She must have been wrought with worry since they sent out. When she turned at the sound of footsteps, a tension in her shoulders simply died, shed off as he stood immediately. The bench behind her wobbled in her haste, but when it settled once more on its feet, Mercedes moved around and met Tavis half way.

“You’ve returned!” she exclaimed, and there was something bright in her eye. It died when she had a moment to actually look at Tavis; worry once again rose up in her neck, her shoulders. She was stiff when she ran her finger across the scrape on his cheek.

Oh.

Tavis blinked a moment at her and. Oh.

“You’ve seen better days, ser,” she said, her voice somehow light where every other muscle was held up in wait.

“The fight was hard, even for me,” he gently plucked her hand away from his cheek. He let their hands linger just long enough that she might know it was not out of dislike. Simply, there was a burn at the end of her fingertips he couldn’t quite understand.

“Surely. Here, come,” she was moving back all of the sudden, gesturing to the table. “There is not much left to eat, but you might at least sit while we speak. You,” a sudden wave of anxiety, nervousness, “did wish to speak, yes?”

Tavis nodded dumbly.

He joined her on the bench, straddling it while she gathered what meager portions were left on a plate for him, added a piece of bread, and sat down beside him in front of her own meal. She didn’t eat more of it, and though Tavis tore a piece of bread to eat, he didn’t much go further. Instead, he looked at her and folded his hands out in front of him. Hunched shoulders, neck drawn back like he was finding it painful to look up, to look at her, even as she could see his eyes.

“You mean to tell me bad news, then.” She sounded resigned. Even if there was an obvious tell in the way she shifted that she had been hopeful, expecting something.

“I wish it were different, that we’d been more careful. The trek was difficult enough, but the griffin landed north, at Bluemoon Tower. It’s nearly half collapsed at this point,” an uncomfortable laugh. “It came out of nowhere, and Ser Westley…”

Mercedes nodded and dropped her hands into her lap. All in an instant, Tavis reached out and put his hand over top hers, squeezing in some semblance of comfort. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but she grabbed onto his hands with both of hers before he could speak.

“Don’t apologize,” she pleaded, “you did what you could, I am assured of that. I have seen how you battle from the moment we met, and I would never think to assume you would willingly let a man die. If this is what happened, it was meant to happen.”

Tavis smiled at her. Weakly, weak enough that she could see the exhaustion in his eyes and the slack in his shoulders.

“You should eat, Arisen” she pressed, though neither of them made a move.

“Might you call me Tavis?” he asked, suddenly. They looked at each other then, and whatever it was that Jareth had been holding over his head the journey back became abundantly clear as Mercedes stammered and pulled back, standing now and wringing her fingers together.

“I truly owe you a debt, ser,” she started. “Had I anything to give you from my own pocket, I might, but rest assured I _will_ find a way to repay you for your service. I mean it true, Arisen,” there it was again. “I am greatly joyed to know a warrior such as you. One willing to fight for the sake of others. Each outstrips the next in skill and judgment, and for all the battles they've shared, they band together as a family."

Then, she all but fled from the room. Leaving her meal uneaten, and Tavis sitting there with a wide-eyed look strewn about his face.

Jareth would be oh, so pleased with himself.

 

As promised, Tavis found Jareth waiting for him outside the door to the Inn with a significantly smaller amount of supplies than he’d expect for the restock excuse. Given how late it was, though, Tavis had figured out the original intention. Not that it would’ve mattered, given how Jareth couldn’t have followed him inside the Demesne anyway, but it was the thought, at least. The walk back, alone, had been all the more calming without Jareth there to ask questions. He was there now, though, and jumped up to his feet when he saw Tavis around the corner and step under the awning.

“Welcome back, Master,” Jareth greeted. He presented his meager bag of supplies like he’d really done something worthwhile, but there was a smile in his eyes that said something else. “Did everything go alright?”

“Fine,” Tavis answered, taking the bag. He stepped around Jareth and into the Inn.

For as much time as they spent in Gran Soren, it was something that Tavis hadn’t looked into buying a more permanent residence. Especially given the expense of the inn, but the keeper was nice enough to at least always save a bed for them. One day, maybe, he’d think about it. He might even see about living with someone, but that was a thought for a different time. For the present, he paid the inn keeper while still idly listening as Jareth babbled behind him. And continued to talk on until Tavis sat down on the bed and set the bag of supplies aside.

“She took it better than I thought,” Tavis interrupted. Jareth had been talking about seeing the blacksmith before they headed out again int he morning but stopped short at Tavis’ comment.

“Good,” was all he said.

“Then I asked her to call me by my name instead of some contrived title, and you’d think I insulted her father.” Given who her father was, that would probably _also_ be treason. Just another thing for Tavis to ignore.

“I doubt that’s what actually happened. What did she do?”

Tavis recounted how she’d immediately jumped into unnecessary praise for his actions, the _titles_ , and then fled from the room like something was on fire. Jareth didn’t do a great job of hiding the laugh on his face, but he didn’t vocalize it, at least. Some of Tavis’ pride remained.

“I’m sure it was just shock,” Jareth plopped down on the bed beside him. “Going from a title to a _name_ feels,” he spun his hands in the air in front of him, the wheels clearly turning in his head as he thought for the word, “intimate.”

“Intimate,” Tavis repeated.

“Yeah like, what if I started calling you by your name? It’d feel a little—different? Different.”

“Intimate,” Tavis supplied, again, but this time with a raised eyebrow.

Jareth coughed and looked at the floor, “yes.”

That explained that as well as it was ever going to be explained, unfortunately. Tavis let out a heavy sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. There was a rummaging around to fill the silence, and sudden Jareth was leaning into his shoulder and presenting a bottle in front of him. Tavis recognized it, though he wasn’t much for drinking. Jareth should know that; he must have, as when Tavis moved to say something about it, Jareth just shook his head.

“I hear wind about that that Lady Marten absolutely adores Cloudwine,” he said.

Tavis took the bottle by the neck. “Why do I feel like you’ve a plan about this? Entirely too contrived.”

“Because, Master,” Jareth was standing as he spoke, one his toes like he was ready to flee, “I think you might be too blind to do anything about the obvious. Remember that _ambush_ of goblins—?”

Tavis swatted at him before he could finish the story, and Jareth just laughed as he walked off. So maybe it _hadn_ _’t_ been an ambush. Maybe Tavis _hadn_ _’t_ been paying enough attention. Maybe he _was_ a little scatterbrained, but that didn’t mean he was incapable of seeing everything. At least, he hoped it didn’t. He’d been able to reach his own conclusion about this mess anyway; Mercedes’ response had simply thrown him for a loop. Maybe his next course of action would to be calm whatever he’d started, and he’d have to be quick of it. He couldn’t wait around Gran Soren forever—there were things that needed his attention. A dragon that was threatening the doom of all man, something or other.

He’d get to it.

Morning came sooner than he’d have preferred, and it came with Jareth rummaging about the room just loud enough that it woke him. This usually only happened when they had somewhere to go, and currently, Tavis had no memory of accepting any _favors_. Unless Jareth had gone off and done something, which had happened before. Tavis was entirely sure he never slept, with how much had somehow been done over the night. He did appreciate it, however, and mentioned that as he sat up.

“Yeah, I figured I’d get us something to do for the day. Night has such a better atmosphere, don’t you think?”

Tavis raised an eyebrow.

“For romance, Master.”

He was ready to go back to sleep.

“What did you get us up to this time, then?”

“Just something simple. Bandits holed up in the pass again. You remember that hut?”

“Past all the harpies?” Tavis was rolling his eyes, but he was at least getting ready. “Yes, I remember. That didn’t take long.”

“It never does, Master. Still, we should be able to finish up in time for you to clean up—”

“Jareth, please—just,” Tavis sighed. “I’ll figure it out. I appreciate how excited you are about this, but I just need to think.”

Jareth nodded. His job was done for the time, in that regard, and he went back to gathering up the supplies. Weapons. The bulky shield Tavis carried around, and then they were off.

Everything about it was routine, from the bread they ate for breakfast to the trek out of the city. Morning was peaking by the time they departed. Before them laid the rolling hills up to the beginnings of Moonsbit Pass. Which was unnecessarily infested with goblins and harpies and all things that Tavis would really rather not deal with. Bandits weren’t really more his speed either, or surely there was a better way to go about this than the slaughter that would no doubt take place, upon their arrival. But he wasn’t exactly being paid to think about that, not in his current position. Nothing really better than a hired hand, even if his employer did, most famously, preside as the Duke for the moment. Maybe he might find a future in some kind of leadership.

Until then, it was goblins and harpies and all things he did not want to deal with. Jareth was pleasant company, though, through the trek. They chatted about mundane things, and it all felt normal. Even through the first wave of goblins, Jareth was standing just far enough away to not get hit, but close enough that Tavis could hear him comment about the tree they were near. A very common tree apparently notorious for producing rather sour fruit. Tavis even scoffed a laugh as he slayed the final goblin.

“Sour fruit, really?” he was in disbelief.

Jareth only shrugged and wrung his fingers about his staff. “Sour fruit,” he repeated.

Tavis shook his head in something of fondness before they continued on. The hill continued upward, through the grass died out and gave way to the horrid rockiness of Moonsbit Pass. It wasn’t so much difficult to trek, one just needed to be more cautious. The area was prone to rock slides—and harpies. Tavis hated harpies. It was much easier for Jareth to fight him, given his use of spells, but Tavis had to use himself as bait and hope they’d fly close enough he could strike one to the ground. It was double the work, triple the exhaustion, and by the time he had brought one down, Jareth had felled the rest. He really appreciated that part.

The sun was already at its high point when they got to the cabin, and the bandits met them immediately. The battle was short lived and uninspiring. Afterward, Tavis poked around inside the house while Jareth picked pockets. They came out with a combined total of two-hundred gold. Not all bad, considering; Tavis picked up an extra dagger he was pretty sure would make something a little extra at the market, but then it was straight home. Back to the inn, as it were. Just in time for him to clean up and take a short nap before it was time to fix the disaster he’d somehow created.

Jareth went on the finding mission to receive their payment for taking care of the little _issue_ while Tavis shed off his armor in the Inn. Really, for as much time as they spent in Gran Soren, he needed to look at buying a house. Once his armor was set up neatly on the side, he laid down just long enough to let the anxiety creep in, and then he was back up and pacing. He’d not been terribly wounded in his earlier battle, lest his pride suffer horribly from facing bandits and breaking an arm. Still, there were cuts along his face and his arms—the only normal clothing he had were short sleeved, which might pose an issue. He couldn’t worry about that—what was more important was at least being _clean_. If he had enough gold to spare, he might have even splurged on some new outfit, but that could wait. If this went well enough, there would be a next time. A next time to look more the proper man someone of Mercedes’ status might look at.

He sighed. Thought back to speaking to her the day prior. He sighed again.

He’d realized it then, he really had; the care in her eyes, the softness in her voice when she spoke. This was important to him now. More than he’d realized before—Jareth be damned.

It was that conviction that had him walking up to the Noble Quarter at just the right time. He had meant to duck into the Demesne before it was closed off, but Mercedes just happened to be walking along the path. It couldn’t have worked any better than at that moment, when Tavis rounded the turn at the top of the incline and came face to face with her. Her eyes wide at the sight of him, her feet stuttering backwards. She opened and gaped, looking for something to say, and all in a split second composed herself and curled her hair behind her ear.

“Well met, Arisen,” she said. Dull, for how she normally spoke. And her eyes were at the ground.

Tavis stared at her for a moment before he remembered his purpose, the bottle of wine in his hand. He presented it to her in one, stocky movement, and she blinked.

“Thank you,” she said, taking it almost gingerly, the way her fingers wrapped around the neck, and she placed a hand underneath it for support. After a moment of inspection, her eyes seemed to brighten. “Ah, Cloudwine. Tis my favorite, ser. How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” _Jareth._ “Actually, I was hoping we might talk over it? I don’t—drink, myself,” he cleared his throat, “but, I know a nice spot. We could, well.” Awkward.

Mercedes smiled, “I would like that. I must apologize for my behavior—”

“We can talk about it,” Tavis gestured off towards the wall that surrounded the Noble Quarter. He caught Mercedes off guard, but she followed him with only one glance behind them when Tavis started to _climb_ the wall. He helped her up.

“Do you often go in places of which you’re not allowed?” there was a chuckle behind her question.

“I find it’s a part of my charm,” Tavis remarked. He had to spare a glance behind him to make sure she took the jest well, though he couldn’t much tell with how she was watching the backs of his feet instead of looking forward.

They walked along the wall in silence, until Tavis had approached one of the towers. From there, there was a short climb directly up a ladder, and then out to the edge where the walls were stacked in different heights. Mercedes followed without pause when Tavis climbed up onto the wall and sat out on one of the taller. There was just enough room beside him, and she was brave enough to take it. Though their thighs were pressed together, and Tavis couldn’t seem to stop the jitter in his fingers, she still sat there. They were nearly at the tallest point in the city; the only place higher was a tower in the castle. But this was a relatively close second, and the view was still breathtaking. The sun was beginning to set, the city beginning to settle.

“I didn’t mean to overstep yesterday,” Tavis started. “With the name thing—I realize that probably came off a little rushed.”

“No, I shouldn’t have reacted in such a manner. Twas absolutely heinous of me, and I can’t imagine how you must have seen me after that. I never meant such disrespect, ser.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Tavis pressed. He stopped all at once, abruptly. They were being tedious. He could hear Jareth behind them laughing and almost had half a mind to turn and see if he was actually there. More than tedious: stupid.

“Mercedes,” Tavis began again, before she could respond. “I don’t want to play this contrived game of titles and roles, I’d rather just—” he gestured wildly in front of him. This was no place to confess something, given how long they’d known each other. But she seemed to understand he meant _more_ and laughed, quietly.

“I understand. I would like that as well. There might be some reprieve from events yet to come. I admit, since coming here to Gransys, I have not yet found anyone whom I could call a friend. My men, I consider them something like family, but a friend? That is something entirely new.” Something more, maybe, given still how she couldn’t meet his eyes.

“What of you, Arisen?” she asked. “Have you met many friends in your travels?”

Tavis shook his head, “it’s mostly just me and my Pawn—his uh, his name is Jareth. But I came from this little village far south of here called Cassardis. I return when I’m able to see the people there.”

“That sounds lovely, though the journey must be long,” she seemed to lean a little closer as the sun got lower.

“It is, but I always find it rewarding.”

They fell off into silence then, watching as the sun made its final set over the horizon. The city was left in the darkness, and only then did Tavis hear the crack of the cork on the wine. He hadn’t brought any cups, but after the admission that he didn’t normally drink, Mercedes seemed to have no issue taking a sip straight from the bottle. A short sip, still very lady-like as though there was a vision she needed to uphold, even as the light disappeared, and Tavis could barely see her. In the dark, it became easier to sit there with her. To relax all along the places their legs were pressed together, where her cheek hit his shoulder. Jareth had been right—so right, and it had taken all of his obnoxious meddling to see it.

“You will call me Tavis, yes?” he had to ask.

Mercedes smiled, and he felt her head shift as she nodded against his shoulder. “At least, I shall give it my greatest effort.”

“I would at least like for _one_ person to call me by my name,” he laughed. “Even Jareth thinks it too much.”

“Then, allow me to be the first, Tavis,” she said. There was a softness behind her voice; he could almost hear it when she closed her eyes. A moment passed before she spoke again: “Might we do this again?”

“I would be honored to accompany you, Milady.”

Mercedes rolled her eyes and pulled away, taking another sip of wine before climbing down from the wall. Tavis followed shortly after and led their way back and off the wall, where they stood for a moment in the quiet street of the Noble Quarter. Gran Soren had gone to sleep, save for a few. Save for them. There was an air about of hesitation, as to how this night was to end. It was far easier than Tavis had been expecting; a surprise for Mercedes. There had to be something more, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Still, she turned and stammered out some halfhearted sigh, then dropped her shoulders. Tilted her head. Looked at Tavis as he reached forward to grasp her free hand.

“It’s been a pleasure, Mercedes,” he nearly whispered. The way her eyes closed, and she inhaled—Tavis could look at her forever. He was sure, after that moment, that she’d even let him.

“Might I walk you to the inn?” she inquired.

Tavis was in no position to disagree; she was a knight, after all. With her, their hands still clasped, the once dreadfully long walk seemed all too short, by the time they arrived at the Inn. He’d have to tell the story; Jareth would no doubt be asking the moment they met face again. But, until then, he shared a quiet moment by the light of the inn and dared even press a kiss to the back of Mercedes’ hand. She smiled.

“Goodnight, Ser Tavis,” and in jest, she smiled. Her hand slid away, bid him with a wave as she turned on her heel, then left.

As expected, Jareth dropped what he was doing the moment Tavis stepped in. He wanted to know the details, the outcome, if there was anything to come of their escapade. As expected, Tavis told him every moment. Though they’d only been together a short time, he felt as though something had truly come of it. Like she was _excited_ to see him again, outside of their pompous roles. Where they could be something _normal_ or _more_ , and wonderful. Jareth laughed that night, more than he’d laughed in all the time they’d traveled together. And Tavis—Tavis slept. Better than he had since he’d first started out.

**Author's Note:**

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> 


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